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I take your discarded clothes And before I put them to wash I scour them for tell tale marks Or the scent that is unfamiliar Looking for an explanation For the late hours The blank phone calls And the reason why you do not touch The warm body that wishes to melt Into your arms. My mind wonders why you bring flowers To camouflage the other smells strong? Or to still the beating of a guilty heart Whether she is pretty I dare not ask Nor can I speak of the terror Caused by the wrinkles around my eyes. Your gray hair makes you handsome To you the years have been kind And I wish I could wear miniskirts To try to catch your eyes I am sure she is young and exciting So don’t tell me you love me I know you’re telling lies. ~Sumaitri~
The Author has copyright © of the poems |
Don't Tell Me Lies 
